Rolling the Dice: Grayz

Every week, we take our turn with Lady Luck on the BruniBetting odds as posted by Eater. Just for kicks, we track Eater’s bet too, and see who is better at guessing what the unpredictable Bruni will do. We track our sins with an imaginary $1 bet every week.

The Line: Tomorrow, Frank Bruni reviews Grayz, the small-plates and private dining emporium from Gray Kunz. The Eater oddsmakers have set the action as follows (√√ denotes the Eater bet):

Zero Stars: 8-1
One Star: 4-1
Two Stars: 3-1 √√
Three Stars: 5-1
Four Stars: 10,000-1

The Skinny: Frank Bruni has uncorked some weird ratings over the years, but the two stars Eater is predicting would be a travesty. That’s the same rating he gave Café Gray, and no one—not even Gray Kunz himself—would tell you that Grayz is meant to be, or that it is, as good a restaurant as the mother ship.

Now, Bruni has been known to turn the ratings hierarchy on its head, but he’s not likely to do it for a glorified bar that serves only three entrées (all fairly expensive), and that’s basically only a money-spinning sideshow to the chef’s main restaurant.

Besides that, I don’t think anyone so far is particularly thrilled with the food at Grayz.

The Bet: We predict that Frank Bruni will award one star to Grayz.

Riingo

 

Note: Riingo closed in 2012. The space is now called Atrium, run by ESquared Hospitality, the same folks behind BLT Steak, BLT Prime, etc.

*

I overlooked Riingo when it opened almost four years ago in the Alex Hotel. My girlfriend is a fan of the chef/owner, Marcus Samuelsson, who also runs the Swedish restaurant Aquavit, so I figured a visit was past due.

The restaurant is Samuelsson’s take on Asian Fusion, which was no longer a new concept when Riingo opened. It garnered mixed reviews: Amanda Hesser delivered a two-star rave in the Times, but Adam Platt in New York (in his pre-star system days) was less impressed.

Amuse-bouche: Mystery Mackerel

It’s possible to see why Hesser liked the place, as everything we tried had potential. But alas, the execution was truly incompetent, and it was coupled with some of the most bumbling service we’ve seen in a long time.

The menu offers the standard appetizers ($5–14), salads ($10–16), entrées ($23–32) and side dishes ($5–6), along with a Japanese menu offering sushi, sashimi, and rolls. All the categories have an eclectic mix, so “tuna foie gras” appears on the sushi menu, and the entrées accommodate interlopers like steak frites. As it is located in a hotel, Riingo also serves breakfast and lunch, along with weekend brunch.

The room is decked out in the expected style, but the rear dining room, in which we were seated, is surprisingly cramped, and servers struggled to negotiate the space. The host made the odd comment that we had the best seats in the house. Our small table with overlapping placemats seemed like nothing of the kind.

The amuse-bouche seemed to be mackerel something-or-other; the explanation was inaudible. The bread service included stale rolls and something much better: a spicy ruffly potato-chip like substance along with a guacamole-like dip (all offered without explanation). As the server took the amuse plates away, he put our dirty forks back on the placemats, as one would do at a cheap diner. They can’t afford clean forks?

 

Don’t adjust your television set: Roasted Beet Salad ($12; above left) came in an odd-shaped bowl that tilted slightly to the right. The kitchen forgot the goat cheese that was supposed to come with it. The chicken that was supposed to be in Chicken Dumplings ($10; above right) was scarcely a rumor, as it was overwhelmed by a sour broth.

There was no false advertising about Rare Tuna ($26; left). As you can see in the photo, it’s as rare as can be, but the accompanying pumpkin purée was lukewarm and tasteless. Bok choy was warm, but had been left in the steamer too long.

My girlfriend had the Chili-Roasted Chicken ($23), which was dry from over-cooking.

We ordered wine along with our food. When I pointed to the item I wanted, the server asked, “By the bottle?” I thought this was peculiar, as the menu didn’t indicate that it was available by the glass.

Matters only got stranger, as half-an-hour (and our appetizers) came and went, but no wine appeared. When it finally came, the server muttered that they had trouble locating my selection in the cellar. By that time we no longer wanted it, so I asked for two glasses; naturally, that wine wasn’t available by the glass, so I substituted an undistinguished pinot noir.

The couple at the next table overheard us, and mentioned that their wine too had not arrived until after the appetizers. We started watching the dining room, and sure enough, at least two other tables had the same experience, with wine delivered after—and in at least one case, long after—the appetizers had been served, consumed, and taken away.

For the usual petits-fours, Riingo had a couple of small oatmeal cookies, which naturally were stale. Perhaps Riingo was once a fine restaurant, but the kitchen and serving staff are have become sloppy, veering on incompetent. I can only hope that Samuelsson will rattle the trees, fire a few people, and get this restaurant back on track.

Riingo (205 E. 45th Street, east of Third Avenue, East Midtown)

Food: mediocre
Service: sloppy
Ambiance: acceptable
Overall: sad

Irving Mill

Note: Irving Mill closed at the end of 2009.

*

I expected a lot from Irving Mill. It’s the first solo venture by John A. Schaefer, who was executive chef at Gramercy Tavern for six years, including the period when it won a Michelin star. Early reviews have been mixed, but I figured a former Gramercy Tavern guy would offer a menu with more hits than misses.

Alas, we were underwhelmed at Irving Mill. Most of what we had was merely adequate. I have to figure that better things are in store here, but our meal there offered little reason to go back.

And that’s really too bad, because the service was as good as I’ve seen at a casual restaurant in a long time. We know Schaefer is a Danny Meyer alumnus, but the front-of-house must be too. I had to pinch myself when they offered to seat me before my girlfriend arrived. At most busy restaurants below three stars—and Irving Mill is very busy—the usual line is, “You’re welcome to wait at the bar until your party is complete.” And when my girlfriend ordered a Whiskey Sour “not too sour,” the server checked back twice to ensure it was exactly the way she wanted it.

The décor is rustic chic, but not in a cynical way: you feel instantly at home. Like Gramercy Tavern, there is a front room that doesn’t take reservations. Tables in the main dining room have been tough to come by lately, but I think the novelty will wear off if the food remains this undistinguished.

The seasonal menu, which I suspect will become more expensive over time, offers appetizers ($10–16), entrées ($25–28), side dishes ($7), and a so-called tasting menu ($54) which is really just a four-course prix-fixe. There are 21 wines by the glass, most of them $12 or less.

 

I started with the New Zealand Cockles Stew ($12; above left), which I don’t recommend. The cockle shells yielded tiny flavorless pea-sized chunks of meat, the chorizo was tough as leather, and the broth insipid. My girlfriend had the Cauliflower Ravioli ($15), which I didn’t taste, but was the meal’s only true highlight.

Roasted Arctic Char ($28; above right) was somewhat better. I liked the contrast of the crisp skin and the tender flesh underneath, but lentils, cabbage, and a red wine reduction added nothing to the dish. My girlfriend’s Grilled Pork Chop ($26) seemed under-sized, and it wasn’t much improved by accompaniments of red cabbage, spaetzle and mustard seed.

I would very much like to think that Schaefer can do better. In such a lovely setting with such polished service, I certainly hope so.

Irving Mill (116 E. 16th Street between Union Square & Irving Place)

Food: *
Service: **
Ambiance: **
Overall: *

Amuse-bouche: Goat cheese
and olive tapenade

Kenka

Masturbation is strictly forbidden at Kenka. That’s just one of many rules at this East Village Japanese restaurant. I hesitate to imagine the unruly patrons it must attract, but the food is surprisingly good.

In Japan, Kenka would be called an izakaya, or drinking establishment. I don’t recall seeing another one like it in New York. The tables are low-slung, with chairs about eighteen inches above the floor. Instead of a coat check, there are piles of open wicker baskets; you take one to your table, and put your coat inside it. The glossy menu is covered with shiny photos of the food, described in Japanese with English translations that are often unhelpful, misspelled, or grammatically incorrect. There are about fifty sakes on offer, all with photos, all inexpensive, and all available by the glass.

  
The décor is unfancy, but authentic, including a row of Japanese pinball machines (above, left). You might have trouble finding the restrooms, as the only signs are the Japanese pictograms for a man and a woman. My friend Kelly guessed that the one that looks like its legs are crossed would be the ladies’ room.

Then, there are the rules:

In case you can’t read them, here are the highlights, all transcribed literally:

• No sake-bomb at all.
• 20% of S.C. will be includes company more than 7 people
• Grafitti or tagging only in japanese. No other language at all.
• No fighting, masturation, having sex or drugs, you will get ejected.
• In the event that a customer breaks any dish or glass on purpose, we will be forced to charge that customer $5 for each thing broken
• In the event that a customer has had too much to drink and vomits outside of the restroom, we will be forced to charge that customer $20 for the cleaning up and inconvenience to our other customers.
• Follow Kenka’s regulation!! Break our regulations or you’ll be thrown out.

Sure enough, both restrooms were full of grafitti, all in Japanese. (The restroom doors are shown above; can you guess which one is the ladies’?)

The menu has about a hundred items, most of them small plates, representing just about every variety of Japanese cuisine, including pig intestines, bull testicles, and turkey penises. (The linked version—the only one I could find online—is incomplete.) We weren’t feeling quite that adventurous, and ordered a more conventionally.

 

Large, fresh oysters (above left) were a salty delight. We paired them with deep-fried oysters (above right), which were just as enjoyable.

 

The next item we had was, I believe, the grilled rice balls (above left). We enjoyed their candied sticky flavor, but they were tough to handle with chopsticks. I barely managed it by “stabbing” mine, and eating it like a lollipop on a stick. Fried rice (above right) had a bounty of fresh-tasting ingredients.

 

The yakitori platter (above left) was the only mild disappointment, as all of the meats seemed tough and overcooked. But everything on the sashimi platter (above right) was first-rate, including a grade of luscious fat-laden tuna (roughly 11:00 on the photo) that I hadn’t seen before.

Service wasn’t fancy, but it was more than adequate for a casual restaurant of this calibre, and all of the food was attractively plated. I didn’t note individual prices, but the total for all of the food shown, plus one drink apiece, was $77 before tax.

As we were leaving, the server gave us a small dixie-cup of pink sugar. Outside the door, there’s a make-it-yourself cotton candy machine. That tiny helping of sugar didn’t make much cotton candy (nor was I hungry for it), but it’s yet another quirk that puts Kenka in a category by itself.

Kenka (25 St. Marks Place near Second Avenue, East Village)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: one of a kind
Overall: *

The Payoff: Fiamma

This week, Frank Bruni awarded three stars to yet another Italian restaurant, Fiamma. Perhaps sensitive to the fact that it seems to be the only cuisine he likes, Bruni tries to argue that it’s not really Italian:

Would you find these entrees in Italy, even up north? Maybe, in a very fussy restaurant. In most others, no. And who cares? They’re prepared with finesse and they’re the definition of luxury, no matter the geography, no matter the language… Fiamma is about as Italian as a poodle in a Prada scarf. [Say, what???]

The review once again uses Frank’s favorite insult, “fussy”. Somehow, Fiamma managed to overcome that liability. It doesn’t happen often. Bruni insists that the cuisine “owes its classically indulgent soul to France.” Somehow I suspect that if a northern European chef were in the kitchen—Gabriel Kreuther, for instance—two stars would be the maximum.

One never knows with Bruni, but based on other reports I’ve read, I can’t quarrel with the rating, although Eater and I had forecasted two stars, and thus lose $1 on our hypothetical bets.

	Eater		NYJ
Bankroll	$61.50		$70.67
Gain/Loss	–1.00		–1.00
Total	$60.50		$69.67
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Won–Lost	25–9		25–9

Rolling the Dice: Fiamma

Every week, we take our turn with Lady Luck on the BruniBetting odds as posted by Eater. Just for kicks, we track Eater’s bet too, and see who is better at guessing what the unpredictable Bruni will do. We track our sins with an imaginary $1 bet every week.

The Line: Tomorrow, Frank Bruni reviews Fiamma, the one truly serious establishment in Stephen Hanson’s galaxy of crowd-pleasing one-star restaurants. The Eater oddsmakers have set the action as follows (√√ denotes the Eater bet):

Zero Stars: 8-1
One Star: 5-1
Two Stars: 3-1 √√
Three Stars: 4-1
Four Stars: 25,000-1

The Skinny: This is technically a re-review, as William Grimes had awarded three stars to Fiamma’s predecessor, Fiamma Osteria, with Michael White at the helm. Earlier this year, White decamped to run the kitchens at Alto and L’Impero (three and two stars respectively, per The Bruni), and Hanson hired Fabio Trabocchi to replace him. Fiamma is the only restaurant in Hanson’s portfolio that critics have taken at all seriously, and he is surely itching to keep all three of his stars.

I haven’t been to Fiamma, but Bruni often telegraphs where he’s headed. In a blog post just one week ago, he complained about the custom of covering tablecloth stains with a fresh napkin, which he called the Napkin of Shame. And yes, he had been “shamed” at Fiamma. (I still don’t get what’s “shameful” about it, but hey, that’s The Bruni: the rituals of fine dining are lost on him.)

Anyway, he didn’t have much to say about the food, but what he did say wasn’t promising:

The meal progressed, a rich, saucy meal, because Fiamma’s new chef, Fabio Trabocchi, cooks in a rich, saucy style. One course departed, another arrived, and so on and so forth. We’ll delve into this deeper when review time comes around.

I don’t remember eating with particular abandon. In fact I remember eating in a restrained fashion, wary of the cumulative effect of all this richness and all this richness and all this sauciness.

My take? Those aren’t the words of a critic who was really enjoying his meal. If Frank is obsessed about napkins, he’s not loving the food. That’s why a three-star review is looking like a real long-shot.

But he didn’t imply it was awful either, as it would have to be for a former three-star restaurant to be double-demoted to one star. So Eater’s two-star prediction is looking pretty good.

The Bet: We predict that Frank Bruni will award two stars to Fiamma.

Bondi Road

Note: Bondi Road closed in October 2012, to make way for a new location of Calexico.

*

Bondi Road and The Sunburnt Cow are a pair of Australian-themed restaurants operated by chef/owner Heathe St. Clair. They are both fairly casual, with nothing on either menu above $16. Bondi Road, the newer of the two, opened on the Lower East Side sixteen months ago to fairly positive reviews (New York,  RG).

I get the sense that Bondi Road was meant to be a bit more ambitious than it is now. Restaurant Girl mentioned a $30 tasting menu that no longer seems to be on offer. The restaurant does not take reservations, but we had no trouble getting bar seating at 8:15 p.m. on a Saturday night. The space was already starting to clear out by 9:30, which is not a good sign, and may explain why I received a publicist’s invitation to dine there.

  

Fried foods are the kitchen’s strength. My son loved Coconut Shrimp ($9; above left), and everyone was dipping into my order of “Salt N Pepper Squid” ($9; above center). The breading was just light enough to add flavor without overwhelming the squid. But Tuna Tartare ($12; above right) was a real dud. The tuna was not sushi quality, and an unattractive lump of it wasn’t rescued by a mango chilli yogurt sauce or an olive tapenade.

 

My son thought that an order of New Zealand Mussels ($10; above left) were “just okay.” My girlfriend and I both ordered the Barramundi ($15; above right), which comes grilled, breaded or fried, and with your choice of side dish. I asked for it grilled, but it came out fried anyway, and I decided to give it a try. I thought they nailed it, but my girlfriend found her order too greasy. However, everyone agreed the french fries were excellent.

Blue curaçao figures in several of the mixed cocktails. I had one called the Wipeout  ($9), a mixture of blue curaçao, sprite, and several white liquors, served in a tall glass. One or two more of those, and they would have needed to carry me home. My girlfriend was less impressed with Sex on Bondi Beach ($9), which sounded like fun, but tasted like a bland orange–grapefruit juice.

The food at Bondi Road is fun (if a bit uneven), and some of it is even very good, but the format works against it. The space, dominated by the bar, is cramped and dark, and the small, high tables would be more suitable for an ice cream parlor. Australian waitresses and a loop of beach videos playing on a projection TV are the only real reminders of “Down Under.” However, with $9 appetizers and $15 entrées, it’s a good budget-conscious choice if you happen to be nearby.

Bondi Road (153 Rivington Street between Suffolk & Clinton Streets, Lower East Side)

Koi

In a city flooded with big-box Asian-themed restaurants, Koi arrived relatively late. As Frank Bruni put it in his zero-star review 2½ years ago:

Koi recreates a popular, buzz-bedecked establishment with the same name and same principal owner in Los Angeles, and it belongs to a well-worn Japanese genre that includes, in Manhattan, Megu, Geisha, Ono, Matsuri and En Japanese Brasserie. These restaurants invest in flashy design, mix colorful cocktails and construct menus that hedge any daring bets with the safety of sushi rolls and versions of dishes popularized by Nobu, the less flamboyant, more dependable sire of this expanding brood.

I didn’t bother with Koi back then, but when I was looking for something new to try in Madison Square Garden’s general vicinity, suddenly its moment had come.

Our visit to Koi almost didn’t happen. I booked on OpenTable for 5:30 p.m., but the restaurant was closed when we arrived: the Bryant Park Hotel staff told us that Koi wouldn’t open until 6:00. We took a twenty-minute walk, and when we returned they were open. The snafu was never explained, but we headed off to our table and were out in plenty of time for a 7:30 show.

Early critics complained about a “you need us more than we need you” attitude and music so loud you could barely think straight. Thankfully, none of that was on display last Friday evening, either because management actually learned something from the reviews, or because Koi’s fifteen minutes of hotness are up. I suspect it’s the latter. We saw families with small children, and our server asked, “Where y’all from?” I suspect that most of the patrons now are tourists.

As at Nobu and other restaurants of its ilk, the menu at Koi is mostly “small plates,” which you’re encouraged to share, along with standard offerings of sushi, sashimi, and rolls. Our server was well informed about the menu and provided patient guidance.

We started with a trio of appetizers. Tuna Tartare ($15; above left) with avocado and crispy wontons was as good a preparation of that dish as any in town. Our server steered us to Crispy Rice topped with spicy tuna ($16; above center), but we weren’t as wowed by it as he was. I believe the third appetizer was the Creamy Rock Shrimp Tempura ($17; above right),  which had a nice cruncy–spicy texture.

 

The so-called “signature rolls” at Koi avoid some of the usual clichés. My son was pleased with a shrimp roll ($16; above left), which had the shrimp outside the rice, instead of the opposite. A Baked Crab hand roll ($9; above right) had a doughy wrapping, rather than the usual rice paper, but it was a bit bland.

The better items on the menu are good enough to make Koi a solid standout in the neighborhood, but it’s not really distinct enough to be a destination.

Koi (40 W. 40th Street between Fifth and Sixth Avenues, West Midtown)

Food: *½
Service: *½
Ambiance: **
Overall: *½

Craftsteak

Note: Craftsteak closed at the end of 2009. After modestly remodeling the space, the same team opened Colicchio & Sons in early 2010.

*

Craftsteak had a tough start, with most of the reviews citing the same peculiar flaw: the kitchen didn’t know how to cook a steak. With prices running about $10–20 per steak higher than the going rate in Manhattan, that wasn’t going to fly.

I visited Craftsteak 1.0 twice (here, here). Frankly, I might not have bothered to return after the first time, but I was so sure Tom Colicchio would right the ship that I figured it was worth another look. The second visit was, if anything, even worse than the first. I was still sure that Colicchio would fix it somehow, but I wasn’t going to rush back.

Tom Colicchio got busy. He fired his chef de cuisine, bought new kitchen equipment, and continued to tweak the menu. His efforts finally paid off with a rare re-review from Frank Bruni, elevating the restaurant to the two stars that I’m sure Colicchio intended it to have. More than a year after my last visit, I thought it was time to give Craftsteak another try.

Craftsteak 2.0 is much improved, though not without its flaws. The menu is still far too sprawling, with 20 different steaks and 35 side dishes. Ten of those steaks are variations on the New York Strip — corn-fed, grass-fed, or Wagyu; 10, 12 or 18 ounce; aged anywhere from 28 to 65 days. Who needs so many options?. Colicchio should offer New York Strip the two or three ways he thinks are best, and ditch the others.

 

The amuse-bouche was a bit of a dud: a thin pâté buried too deep in a cast-iron bowl, with just three skimpy crackers to mop it up with. Parker-house rolls were much more successful, and it was all we could do not to eat all six of them.

 

Our favorite steak is the ribeye: naturally, there are two versions: 14-ounce grass-fed ($55) or 18-ounce corn-fed ($52). We chose the latter, as it’s four ounces heavier and three dollars cheaper. And finally, Craftsteak served a steak for the gods: tender, beautifully charred, evenly marbled, full of mineral flavor. There was no need for four steak sauces: they were first-class, but why offer only two spoons?

Rounding it out was a plate of gnocchi ($11), soft, light and creamy enough to make you forget every other gnocchi you’ve ever had.

The dining room was full, but we had no trouble getting walk-in seating at the bar. The tables there are just as big, and it’s the same menu. Servers aren’t quite attentive enough. I would almost be tempted to award three stars for the food, if I did not suspect that a menu as vast as Craftsteak must have some duds, and perhaps we were just lucky enough not to order any of them. But on the strength of this visit, it appears that Craftsteak is finally delivering on its promise.

Craftsteak (85 Tenth Avenue at 15th Street, Far West Chelsea)

Food: **
Service: *½
Ambiance: **
Overall: **

Montreal Journal: Marché de La Villette & Les Bouchées Gourmandes

Marché de La Villette

Rounding out our Montreal journal are two casual places along rue St. Paul Ouest where we had breakfast and lunch.

Marché de La Villette has only been in existence for about four years, but it has the look of a comfortable bistro that has been there forever. There’s a take-out counter featuring an array of salads, quiches and terrines, but there’s a full-service all-day menu too. We’ve been there several times, but only for breakfast/brunch. It’s not exactly a bargain, with breakfast for two coming to around CA$40, but you don’t leave hungry, and everything is prepared to a high standard.

 

Pictured are: Crèpe with ham and brie (upper left), Cheese platter (upper right), Omelette with salad (lower left), and your humble correspondent (lower right).

It’s a pity I didn’t have my camera the first day that we visited La Bouchées Gourmandes, which is just down the street from Marché de La Villette. It’s primarily a sweet shop, but there’s a breakfast and lunch menu too. The crèpes were outstanding — if anything, lighter, fluffier, and more textured than those at La Villette. We went back the next day for hot chocolate and a tart.

The place appears to be operated by a husband–wife team, with no one in the front-of-house except the wife. She moves at her own pace: that tart took her quite a while to produce, even though it was already in a display case and needed only to be plated.

But as long as you’re in no hurry, it is well worth a visit.

Marché de La Villette (324, rue St. Paul Ouest, Montreal)

Les Bouchées Gourmandes (310, rue St. Paul Ouest, Montreal)